


From the Sea of Unconciousness

by JBSteele



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBSteele/pseuds/JBSteele
Summary: Thoughts as Harry wakes up from another battle.// I don't own HP.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	From the Sea of Unconciousness

_Where am I?_

The thought percolates out of nowhere as I awake and I realize that it's followed by an immense pain emanating from everywhere in my body.

The pain doesn't help answer the question.

_Where am I?_

It's dark, but slowly - so very very slowly - I realize my eyes are shut. That would be why it's dark. The pain is its own cheerleader and quite frankly I don't like it. I have to know where I am. It takes a while, but the other senses in my abused body report in.

Smell? A familiar scent. I've been here before. Often, it seems. It feels like it's linked with the pain. I shudder unconsciously - and the pain redoubles. There's another scent that's much more familiar, much more relaxing. It's linked with trust, kindness - love? But... how?

Touch? Not much there. I'm somewhere warm. That's all I know. Wherever it is, it's comfortable, at least. My right hand is warmer than my left.

Taste? Forget it. My mouth feels so dry and nasty at the same time that I'm not even going to try.

Hearing?

Oh, there's something. At first it was like walking out of a tunnel. Noise getting louder. More... distinct. It sounds like my name, of all things. Why is my name being called? Whatever the reason, my mind and reaching out toward it. My body, too, if so slowly and achingly. The pain. It hurts, but that sound promises to shield me from the pain. I don't know how and I can't explain it. It just is.

Maybe I should open my eyes for real and perhaps I'd be able to figure out why my body is trying to move from this so warm and comfortable place.

Just a crack. I managed just a crack and the light wherever I am stabs me. I let out a groan.

There's my name again, and the voice has an undertone of joy and relief in it that I don't understand, but somehow I know it refers to me. That joy and relief bats away some of my pain and encourages me to open my eyes.

It's not quite as bad this time, and I can feel something being put on my face. This helps.

My neck feels like big handfuls of gravel are rolling around my vertebrae. I barely manage to get my head turned to the side. Just a bit. Just enough to see what or who is there. I can tell I'm in a bed now. The light is coming from the windows and I've been here often. Everyone has, when they've gotten hurt. Another groan rises from my recumbent form. This just isn't my favorite place to be.

However, I can say that my line of sight has revealed to me someone I would much rather see.

I smile. I can't hold it back. I know now why my right hand is warmer, and I manage to squeeze the small hand holding my hand in a tight grip, as if it was never to be released.

I despair to think of that hand ever leaving mine again.

More memories decide to make their presences known and my mind's eye present my brain with the knowledge about the fight - like a flashy montage of motions strobe-lit in stark terms. Spell fire crashing into walls and bodies, bright eyes narrowed almost enough to hide the gleaming madness of others' intent on murder, shrieks and wails of those cut down like waving stalks of wheat facing a scythe.

I remember now.

Such terrible things and I don't think that's the last I'll see until he's dead.

But there are other memories, too. Shy questions being asked of me, almost longing and unsure, the same that I had in return. Tentative and with hope, hope bolstered with desire, desire bolstered with need. Need covered with the sure and certain knowledge that the owner of that small hand has always been at my side and I can think of no other place to be. Things said and rejoiced about, and interrupted by what caused the first memories to play when I woke up.

The sight of that someone I see now batters down the waves of pain in my body. I'm safe now, with her at my side. Here, where she belongs.

My throat is so raw, but I have to tell her what I wanted to say then. It's not clear. My body is betraying me in my quest to communicate something so important, so vital. I feel so powerless until I feel cool fingers on my lips and hear a gentle voice brimming with the same love that I feel deep in my soul.

My eyes focus on the chocolate brown eyes and I can see the lips curve in a gentle smile, framed by the curly brown hair I know so well.

"I know, Harry. I love you, too. You're mine and I'll be here by your side. Now sleep."

I follow my orders as a light kiss caresses my brow. That scent I know, trust, and love wafts over me as she moves. Whatever pain later brings in this bed, I know I can handle it.

Because she's here, at my side. Where I've always known her to be. I drift off, sure that a smile is on my face.


End file.
